


In Holding - Bucky/Reader

by BridgeToTheSky



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky's a tough cookie, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Maybe smut idk depends, Romance, Smut might be too far up the ally for bucky at them moment, Tender care
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-15 12:54:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4607535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BridgeToTheSky/pseuds/BridgeToTheSky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You had never … felt a metal arm before. </p><p>But to do what your impulse willed, you had to go through Bucky. Taut, staring, and waiting, it didn’t seem like that would serve in his eyes — he would more preferably pounce on you before letting you anywhere too close.</p><p>(Takes place a little after the credit scene from Ant-Man~ But I think you can read this if you haven't seen it!<br/>.... Oh no, I just gave it away. Fuck. No I don't think I did! I'm good! Read at your own risk, I suppose~)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bargaining Tool

Metal. So much metal.

 

You wanted to inch to it, to graze fingers up against the steel of it. It was just an impulse now, stupid and meaningless — you knew what metal felt like, and you could imagine how it would feel this time around.

 

But you had never … felt a metal _arm_ before.

 

But to do what your impulse willed, you had to go through Bucky. Taut, staring, and waiting, it didn’t seem like that would serve in his eyes — he would more preferably pounce on you before letting you anywhere too close.

 

This was to be the regiment of today, and everyday, until Steve figured out what next to do with his longtime, very much damaged friend. He had sought you out through one of your closest friends, who was Steve’s lover at the moment, to … tend to Bucky.

 

Harder said, harder done.

 

You had planned to clean him up, at least tend to the slight wounds he had across his flesh arm from God knows what, but it wouldn’t ensue; Bucky was adamant on keeping you away.

 

You had your hands up, feet circling the room of which Bucky occupied, on the floor, contained — until he wouldn’t be; what if he got out and tried something? _Then_ what? You weren’t a fighter. Your weapon was _peroxide,_ and a heated rag (you had _heated_ it for him, by the way. You’d make sure to not spend such luxuries on his ass again, that’s for damn sure). If he found a way out of his entanglements, you’d be screwed.

 

Your only confidence was that even though he looked ferocious, he was also crestfallen. Whatever he was trapped in was, for the time being, quite holding.

 

His stubbornness to let you treat him had awakened some stubbornness in you, as well, and you got an idea. And at that moment, you rose your head — if only a light bulb would ignite over you, like a cartoon, the moment would have been perfection.

 

“Oh, _Bucky~_ ” You sang, evil smile and all. You tiptoed out of the room, your movements followed only by the sounds of clinks, and then you reappeared a second later — doughnut on plate, plate in hand.

 

This was it, your bargaining tool.

 

“It’s been a long time since you’ve eaten, now hasn’t it?” You taunted, revealing the pastry.

 

And perhaps it wasn’t prudent to taunt Bucky at this time, but the face he made was priceless. Mouth an ‘o’ shape and blinking — blinking, _finally ,_ you wondered when he would do that.

 

“How about I give you this,” You waved the pastry around in the air. “And I clean your wounds for you? Hmm? Sound like a deal, cuteness?”

 

Bucky settled against the back of the machine that had braced his arm, looking down. Was this defeat?

 

You tried — inching toward your patient slowly, ready for any sudden moves.

 

There were none. You knelled down in front of him, and presented him with his prize.

 

Bucky narrowed his eyes at you, and with his other hand snatched the doughnut, ripping it apart with his teeth, ruining the previous perfection of the creamy dish. You were surprised; he hadn’t even tested it somehow for poison or whatever the hell he predicted you to have done to it.

 

Suddenly, your taunting felt even more ugly … he must have been _truly_ hungry …

 

You quit your games; pouring some peroxide on to your rag and beginning to brush it against Bucky’s muscled bicep — so perfectly sculpted and lovely to the touch, even if that touch was separated by a rag. Mm~ to touch him really, what would that feel like?

 

You looked up at Bucky’s face, which by the still lingering suspicion that was most likely growing each second you weren’t sufficiently cleaning his wound, told you this would not be the appropriate time to suggest you wanted anything more than you had said.

 

 _And I’m not taking advantage of him,_ You thought, continuing to clean the slashes that lay across his arm.

 

_Still, what a hottie._


	2. Professional Opinion

And this was to be the unspoken deal between the two of you: morning, noon and nights, as long as you had a snack for Bucky to nibble on, he would let you do what you wanted.

 

But you were  not a doctor. Okay, okay, _fine,_ an ex- _nurse_ , but that was good enough for Steve to sign you up as Bucky's doctor, nurse, therapist, and anything  _ else _ that may fit under the dictionary definition.

 

You weren't happy with it, but your sympathy for your best friend's lover and Bucky was what kept you planted in your spot. You couldn't just ...  _ leave _ them like this. 

 

But here was your moral dilemma: night came, and when Bucky's suspicion would give way to his body's desperate need for rest, his thrashing would begin.

 

Thrashing, moans, twists and turns. There was no rest for him in dreams, for whatever haunted him both in the daytime and the sleeping hours of his life refused to let up.

 

And you would have to decide whether to wake him or not. 

 

For the most part, you didn’t. You felt guilty, of course, but the idea of waking up a ravaged, miserable maniac from his sleep was not something you thought would suffice on your end, so to speak. What if he confused the horrors of his nightmares with you and attacked?

 

But, you could at least try. Try to wake him and maybe … maybe give him something to help him sleep? Maybe he’d be less cranky!

 

And that would be ideal; a less cranky Bucky.

 

So you set out on your goal; you grabbed a bottle of sleeping pills from your fridge, a water bottle, and tiptoed downstairs, where the clanking of chains and huffs of interrupted grunts could be heard.

 

You poked your head to the side to get a view of Bucky’s room. You saw his leg first, sprawled out in an angle you knew meant that his body was twisted. A little farther past the door and you could see you were correct; Bucky’s body was hopelessly trying to escape whatever was torturing him in dreams.

 

Your resolve to help him sleep was stronger than ever as you crept near him, careful to not be trample by his legs that occasionally dashed to one side of the wooden floor to another.

 

You went for the his trapped arm, thinking better of trying to tap him on his free one (the one most likely to grab and throttle you) and gently smoothed it. 

 

“Bucky,” You whispered. “Bucky!”

 

The moment his eyes shot open you flinched out of the way of his swinging arm. He looked around, eyes darting frantically, soaking in his surroundings. You waited for his eyes to sweet on to you, and when they did, they softened, his breath relaxing into a consistent pattern of in-out, in-out.

 

“Hey …” You said, voice as though trying to soothe a baby. “You know me, right? I’m the pastry lady? ‘Member? Not one of those nasty nightmare people. I want to try and help you sleep, okay?”

 

Bucky’s position did not change. His eyes trailed down to the pills and the bottle you possessed in your hand.

 

“These are my tools,” You said, holding them up. “Want to give it a try?”

 

But Bucky’s eyes remained on the pills. “What …” he trailed, and you were surprised by his speech; the first word he had spoken to you since … since you had started doing this with him. “What do they do?”

 

“They’ll help you sleep,” You said. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

 

Bucky lifted his eyebrows, as though what you just swore would be tempting to him, then … he nodded.

 

You handed him the bottle and then shook a couple of pills out for your patient, then handed him those as well.

 

He hung his head back and let them dip into his mouth, then swallowed them and took a swig of the water.

 

Awkward silence set in. You nodded. Mission complete, right? Now, the next time Bucky’s strength ebbed and sleep set in, it wouldn’t be the hellish endeavor it had been. Your role had been fulfilled, and now what?

 

“Whoa, whoa!” 

 

You stopped Bucky from taking more pills, snatching them away. 

 

“You don’t want to overdose,” You said, wagging the bottle. “Right?”

 

Again. Lifted eyebrows. And his meaning was clear: _Oh, don’t I?_

 

A darker tone settled at that moment, and you were stumped for something to say. So, instead, you choose to say nothing and went to stuff the pills elsewhere.

 

_Bucky,_ you thought, returning to your quarters upstairs after you were sure Bucky had lolled to the side and fallen asleep.

 

_ What happened to you? _

 

And your answer was blunt, almost too evident: _a lot._

 

Your professional opinion? 

 

_ Too much. _

**Author's Note:**

> Got the idea nearly right after seeing the credit scene on Youtube, and I just HAD to write something for my broken child, Bucky, but I was afraid I'd be missing some serious details, and so I watched Ant-Man just to make sure I wasn't missing anything crucial!   
> Ant-Man was good, btw~)


End file.
